Familiarity Lovers Anonymous

At the end of September, my husband completed the requirements for receiving his Master's degree -- yay! While waiting for the magical diploma to arrive in the mail he's also started looking for full-time work. He and I have discussed several times about preferred states to reside. We're currently in Arizona (in the same town as his parents), my family is in Minnesota and Wisconsin, his remaining family is in Georgia. So wouldn't it make sense to prefer living somewhere close to family and familiarity?

Last weekend I mentioned our situation to an acquaintance whose response shocked me: "Why are you limiting yourself to these places? In this economy you should go where the jobs are!"
Her answer reveals her past. Immediately after marrying a military man she and her husband moved from state to state, country to country. The couple had no knowledge of where they were to live next or for how long. She inquired, "Have you ever lived away from home?" My response was, "I have lived in unfamiliar places, places I didn't care for, but never outside of four hours from family." Abruptly, she replied, "That's pathetic".

Excuse me? Now, I have been known to argue for extensive amounts of time to prove a point and this conversation was no different, albeit the time allotted for me to debate. As politely as I could possibly muster, I explained that there is nothing wrong with preferring a certain location as long as preference doesn’t equal stubborn resolve.

Moving to urban Arizona from rural Minnesota last summer was one of the most thrilling but difficult decisions of my life. It is no surprise to anyone who knows me personally that my reaction to this momentous transition has mirrored a bad rollercoaster ride. I'm heading up, looking forward to the ride ahead. I reach the pinnacle, see the heights and opportunities all around, but almost as immediately as the thrill arrives I have the horrifying realization that this trip will be like nothing I ever expected. I feel like throwing up. My heart races as gravity yanks me down to earth and in that one-second drop it occurs to me that maybe a terrible mistake has been made. Why did I decide to try this? Who convinced me to get on this cursed contraption?

Ironically, while my body is lifted back up to the heavens, my stomach sinks. I faced crooked twists and turns; even a loop-de-loop. My knuckles lock up into a pale white death-grip around the flimsy "safety bar" and harness. However, at the end of the ride the passengers around me all seem fine. They joyfully laugh and squeal with delight at the adrenaline rush. Meanwhile, I long to feel solid, stationary earth beneath my feet.

And just as I exit the ride, my husband asks if I’d like to try a new coaster called “The Master’s Degree Move”. What’s specifically terrifying about this ride is that no one can see the final destination. Sure, everyone knows that passengers exit safely; a Bermuda Triangle this is not. But before we leave the amusement park and head back home we must try the ride. There is no way around it. He assures me that no previous coaster passenger has ever died on it and that it only lasts two minutes, max.

We get in line. Others waiting represent park customers who have tried and loved the “move”. Not surprisingly, a peppering of others have never attempted the ride and have never cared to. I glance at hubby who is not paying mind to the petrified. He, expecting the adventure of his life so far, cannot wait to sit in the uncomfortable, fragile plastic seating and soar over a warped steel track with nothing but a Heimlich maneuver bar protecting him from potential danger.

We reach the front of the line. The person immediately behind me notices my apprehension and asks if I’ve ever been on this ride before.

“No, though I’ve been on others many times", I say, "I've never really enjoyed it. I’m trying this one so my husband doesn’t go on it alone.”

Her response? “That’s pathetic.”